Hold On
by Amy Renee
Summary: A short drabble glimpsing into the brothers' inner demons that takes place in early season 5.


**Hold On**

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

* * *

_I'm so ashamed of defeat _

_And I'm out of reason to believe in me _

_I'm out of trying to get by_

_Seether: The Gift_

* * *

The soft beat of his boots on the pavement and the small white puffs of breath in the chilled night air his only company, Dean made his way back to his and Sam's motel room.

His hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders somewhat hunched, his posture didn't reflect the confident and cocky young man he had been, or at least tried to portray. It was that of a man who was defeated, unconfident. It mirrored the way he felt these days, and he felt old and tired - so damn tired.

He had told Sam he was going out, which he knew Sam would take as 'I'm getting a drink,' but he didn't go to the bar they had passed a few blocks away on their way into town. Instead he walked.

He had to kind of scoff at that. Walking was always more of Sam's thing. Truth is, he couldn't find any solace or temporary false release in a bottle or in the bed of some nameless woman anymore. It was all empty. He was empty, and he could no longer fill that emptiness with what he always had. It was too big now. Devouring.

And he didn't want to sit in a bar with other people, seeing them completely and blissfully oblivious to what was happening, wondering what their futures held, though he had a pretty good idea that it was nothing good. He was no closer to finding a way to stop the Apocalypse now than when he started, and he kept finding that hope was damn near impossible to come by. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as the motel came into sight.

"Colder than a witch's tit out there" Dean exclaimed shaking off the cold as he stepped into the warmth and crappiness of the room. He shut the door behind him and shrugged out of his coat, placing it on his bed by the door. With no response from his brother's slouched form on the adjacent bed he looked up. Sam had his back to him, head down, elbows resting on his knees.

"What's the matter with you?" He asked taking a step forward, his tone a little less concerned than he intended.

Still there was no response, not even so much as a tilt of Sam's head to acknowledge his older brother's presence. A disturbing ache settled in Dean's gut.

"Sam?" He stepped forward, approaching at an angle from the right.

That's when he saw it, what Sam had been looking at and what had been shielded from Dean by his brother's body.

In Sam's hands was Sam's 9mm.

Dean's heart was suddenly enclosed in an icy vice-like grip. His eyes widened and he found himself unable to move. Sam continued to stare at the gun intently, and Dean had guessed what that intent was.

Forcing the fear that gripped him aside, Dean willed himself to stay calm as he took another cautious step towards Sam. His heart began to hammer in his chest and he could hear it pound in his ears. Sam's thumb slightly stroked the barrel.

"Sam?" He tried again, softer this time as he strained to get his voice to cooperate.

Sam still didn't turn to look at him. It made Dean more nervous. If he couldn't be sure that Sam was aware of his approach he could startle him, and with a presumably loaded gun in his brother's hands well, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take either way.

Still, he needed to get to Sam.

He slowly moved into the younger man's peripheral next to him, keeping behind him just a step. He ducked his head to try to get a look at Sam's face. What he could see on the downcast features, he didn't like.

Sam was pale, the single dim lamp between the beds casting odd shadows under his eyes, and it was his eyes that scared Dean the most. They were hollow, lost, pained, and there was something else, something Dean couldn't place, and he liked that even less.

Dean was desperately trying to figure out his next move when Sam made it for him.

Sam let out a short quiet sigh and the gun drooped as his already light hold went more lax. Dean took the opportunity to move closer, squatting down in front of Sam.

"Sammy, give me this" he said softly as he removed the gun from his brother's hands. He forced his eyes away from Sam as he looked at the gun.

God, the safe wasn't on. He removed the magazine and pocketed it. Then he tossed the empty weapon to the other bed disgustedly. He turned his attention back to his brother, gripping his upper arms as he gave him a once over.

Satisfied there was no evidence of bodily harm, he looked back to Sam's adverted eyes.

"It didn't work" Sam said still gazing down, his voice low, dry, and hollow.

"What-" Dean swallowed. "What didn't work?"

"He said he'd just bring me back."

Dean watched Sam quizzically. It was then he caught sight of a small round hole in the front of his brother's button-up shirt, exposing the skin beneath it, right over his heart. He hadn't caught it before, a fold in his shirt covering it. Dean tentatively reached his right hand out, smoothing out the shirt and lightly brushing his fingers over the hole.

There was a slight black ring around the hole, standing out only faintly against the dark blue of the material. The visible skin underneath was intact, but red and raised, mirroring the shape of the missing fabric.

_What the-?_

"It didn't work" Sam repeated in a whisper still looking down.

Alarming realization had dawned on Dean. He fisted his hand in Sam's shirt, his other tightening its hold on Sam's bicep. He looked fearfully into Sam's eyes, searching, silently pleading with him to deny what he dreadfully knew to be true. Sam's eyes offered no such comfort.

Dean became vaguely aware that he was starting to tremble, but it wasn't from the cold sweat that had descended over his body. He could feel his heart pounding like mallet against his chest again. The color drained from his face and his lips parted in shock and disbelief.

_Oh God._

He thought he should say something but he didn't trust his voice even if he could get it past his useless vocal cords.

He kept his right hand fisted in Sam's shirt and moved his left up to rest on the nape of his brother's neck. Sam's head dropped further and a silent sob escaped him.

Dean put pressure on the back of Sam's neck and he slowly fell forward, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, tears freely falling and rolling down his nose, dripping from the tip. Dean's head fell and he gripped Sam's shirt tighter and his neck firmly. He let tears of his own fall.

All they could do was hold on.

* * *

_Hold me now I need to feel relief _

_Like I never wanted anything _

_I suppose I'll let this go and find a reason I'll hold on to_

_Seether: The Gift_


End file.
